Patrick shook his head. Embarrassing.
The speaker was quiet for a moment, but for Karim's sniffling. "Almost the last thing he said to me," Karim said wearily, "was a quote from your president Bush."
"Oh?" Bob said, bored. "What was that?"
"He said that Bush said that it was better to fight us on our ground than for the Americans to fight us on theirs."
"Oh, yeah?" Bob said.
Irritated at Bob's apparent lack of interest, the little terrorist said with a snap, "And then he said that he thought Bush was right."
Shortly thereafter Bob joined Patrick over a cup of coffee before Patrick headed north again. What do you think?"
"Is he gay?" Patrick said. "He sounds like he's in love with Isa."
"Something we'd thought of, too, he talks like Isa jilted him in Damascus," Bob said. "He didn't write, he didn't call, it's all one long moan." He cocked an eye at Patrick. "Anything you can use?"
"It's all grist for the mill, Bob," Patrick said thoughtfully. "He was in on that bus bombing in Baghdad."
"Ya think?" Bob said. "I'm going to sweat the little weasel until he tells me exactly how he designed and built that bomb, every nut, every bolt, every wire. I want to know where he got the parts, what the original target was, who picked it, who changed the target and why, and who gave the order for execution. When I have a confession, signed, witnessed, notarized, recorded on tape and on video, then at least, even if they won't let us hang him, he won't be exercising that talent on the streets of anyone's town ever again."
Patrick's driver poked his head in the door. "Time to go, Mr. Chisum."
Patrick drained his mug. "I appreciate the call, Bob, thanks."
"Thanks for the newspapers and the magazines and the smokes," Bob said. "See you next time."
No, Patrick thought now, it didn't hurt to ask a friend for help. His mind made up, he dropped his feet and swiveled back to his desk. He dialed twice before remembering to get his secretary to turn the phone back on, and then he had to redial because he got the country code wrong and wound up talking to a Josie Ryan in Limerick. They had a delightful conversation about the menu for the family dinner she was serving to her husband, Gerry, two daughters, and three sons (a fourth had moved to Alaska, probably partially due to the amount of grandchildren now in evidence). She inquired after Patrick's plans for the holiday, clucked her tongue over his having none, and extended an invitation. He declined with sincere regret and redialed. There was a brief silence, the double rings of the European telephone, and a click. "Knightsbridge Institute."
"Patrick Chisum for Hugh Rincon."
"One moment, please."
It was more like five before he was rescued from Muzak hell. No one ever played Yo-Yo Ma on hold. "Patrick?"
"Hello, Hugh. How are you?"
"Fine. What's it been, two wars?"
"More like three," Patrick said, "but who's counting. How's London? How's Sara?"
"Both good."
"She still stuck at the IMO?"
Hugh sighed. "Yeah, for a second tour."
"The people who make those assignments could be changing."
"So we saw," Hugh said, and left it at that.
Patrick respected the reticence. Hugh Rincon was ex-agency, married to an XO in the U.S. Coast Guard. They'd been involved in a lively adventure involving North Korean terrorists in the North Pacific a few years back, and the fallout had included Hugh's resignation from the agency and Sara's exile to the International Maritime Organization. Rumor had it she'd lipped off to the president himself, in the Oval Office no less, but Patrick doubted a career officer would put her future in such jeopardy and took the rumor with a large grain of salt.
Hugh had followed her to London, where he had signed on with the Knightsbridge Institute, an extremely well-funded global think tank which produced ruthlessly researched papers on subjects ranging from China 's embrace of the free market to the military preparedness of Dakar to the economic impact on Central and South America of the legalization of drugs in America. The Institute was known for having the best resources available on every possible global topic whether it be speculation or reality. Patrick faced up to the fact that this was going to cost him. "I've got the Middle East desk, Hugh."
"What happened to Harvey Moskowitz?"
"Retired last year."
"His idea?"
"No."
"Figures. If you're going to screw up, first thing you have to do is get rid of anyone who might have a clue." A pause. "I was an Asia desk man myself, Patrick."
"I know, but you've moved onward and upward. I need your help on a little project."
There was a smile in Hugh's voice when he replied. "I don't think the U.S. government can afford me."
"If we can afford the Mossad, we can afford you."
"What?"
"It's a long story. Let me run my topic by you first," Patrick said. "I'm tracking a terrorist calling himself Isa."
"Head of Abdullah," Hugh said immediately, and Patrick could hear keys clicking in the background, "formerly of the Zarqawi group, believed to have formed his own group after Zarqawi's death, responsible for the bus bombing in Baghdad in, what was it, December oh-five. That Isa?"
"That's the one."
"Never heard of him."
It surprised a laugh out of Patrick. "Very funny." He sobered. "This guy isn't done, Hugh. I've got all kinds of rumors filtering in through the usual sources and a few unusual ones." Patrick told Hugh about Karim. "I think Isa's recruiting and I think he's got plans. Just one time I'd like to get the jump on one of these bastards."
"Yeah, I heard about just missing al-Zawahiri. Bad luck." That blown operation had been all over the front pages for weeks now. "You think you got another mole at Langley?"
"That, or bin Laden's intel is better than ours."
Which wouldn't be hard, both of them thought and Rincon charitably didn't say. "What do you need, Patrick?"
"Anything you've got on him. Anything you can get on him until he's either dead or my beck-and-call boy in Gitmo."
"All right. I'll put together a package and send it over. Along with a rate schedule."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Payable upon delivery, Patrick. You sure the new man will go for that?"
Patrick thought back to Kallendorf's first briefing. "The new man will go for anything that gets results."
AFGHANISTAN, DECEMBER 2006